


The Shreklock

by atypicalmidday



Category: Sherlock (TV), Shrek Series
Genre: Bad Puns, Crack, Crossover, M/M, OOC, Proceed with caution, my friends disapprove of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atypicalmidday/pseuds/atypicalmidday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which scientific theories are disproved, long walks is a thing, and Anderson is right. Also, innuendos, (too many) puns and science. Please correctly distinguish between Sherlock and Shrek...they do seem quite shimilark. Enjoy this work of serious literature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shreklock

**Author's Note:**

> I am not on drugs, or drunk, or anything. There is only regret on behalf of my future self.

"Your luggage, sir?" The porter boy asked.

"I'm a photon." Sherlock muttered, not turning away from his phone.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm...travelling light."

***

Of course, everything began with a ~~nice~~ murder. This body, naked and bloated like that one rubber boob he saw in a party shop a few years back, was found near a certain swamp, far away somewhere in the dreadful country. Sherlock leaned in, scanning the corpse for clues like an eagle searching for prey, except less hungry. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted at the dying gurgle of mud as his (leather, dammit) shoes left its wet, loving embrace. The country is hell, he remarked to himself.

He tried to conjure up all his mild-mannered British nature to at least neutralise the level of agitation that had settled on him ever since he stepped off the train and was greeted by a slap of wind to the face. It did not work; or, as they say, "you can't give what you don't have". He felt slightly insulted and his face hurt. Resorting to an act of well-deserved sulking, he grabbed the coffee from Inspector Lestrade and stared into its soulless black depths, deep in thought. Lestrade was left feeling mugged.

"Freak. Nobody can stand him except for another freak." Anderson remarked.

"What are you doing in my swamp?" Boomed a voice, so erect with spite that Sherlock turned and stared at the green creature. Immediately he was swept off his feet. By the odour, that is.

"Dear me," he exclaimed internally, in British. To think that this swamp was inhabited, nevertheless _owned_ by anyone was beyond his imagination. But then again he's never imagined that so much aesthetic displeasure can exist in one being. So much for mild-mannered British nature.

***

The second time was much easier. Sherlock had a cold, so he couldn't really smell anything. When the green thing appeared again, yelling something like "Get outta my swamp!", Sherlock simply ignored the imperative and asked, "Know any good fishing places near by? I'm quite a well-known fisherman."

"No," the unpleasant being stomped back into his cottage and slammed the door.

***

When another body was found at the same location, Sherlock knocked on the cottage door himself. The door cracked open, and Sherlock felt his nips harden with a gust of unwelcome.

"Do you know who is responsible for the bodies in the swamp?"

"Ogres." The ogre, apparently, sounded threatening but also mediocrely bored, "We'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin, we'll shave your liver, squeeze the jelly from your eyes! Actually, it's quite good on toast. Ogres! Big, stupid, ugly ogres."

"Uh huh. Lovely." Sherlock replied, nodding halfheartedly.

"What do you want?" The ogre, seeing that Sherlock had no intentions to leave, enquired. Inside his hugeass ogre heart he felt a slight ripple. Nobody had called him 'lovely' in a long time. Not even anything close.

At that moment in that ordinary afternoon, Shrek saw the sunlight brushing against Sherlock's features, the oscillating electromagnetic field bouncing off him like fairies in the woods. Sherlock's curls danced in the stream of light, as if in a vague attempt to catch a beam between their strands, but photons have no mass and possess not only particle but also wave properties. Sherlock bathed in the afternoon's sweetness, and for the first time in forever Shrek stood in his doorway and felt _enchanted_.

"A walk. Take a walk with me." Sherlock demanded. It was nothing personal or remotely romantic. Sherlock was merely trying to determine whether Shrek was a suspect, he reasoned. Criminal behaviour 101.

Shrek was surprised by that, in the good way. "Surely you wouldn't want to go on a walk with someone like me?"

"I do, but don't call me Sherly."

***

They passed the onion field, the location where the last body was found. A scarecrow stood.

"Why is there a medal on that scarecrow?" Sherlock asked.

"They awarded it to him. He's outstanding in his field, isn't he?" Shrek answered matter-of-factly.

"Exstrawdinary."

General scientific theories cannot be truly "proved", but just one phenomenon can disprove of them. In this case, it was that "scarecrows are not alive".

"Oh!" Sherlock shouted joyously. He ran through the onion field, towards the scarecrow.

"Who killed her?" He asked.

"I can't tell you. You need to solve the case, not just ask!"

Sherlock glared at the scarecrow, "Is one stick up your backside not enough?"

"It-it's the muffin man!" The scarecrow cried, "He had a bat and he dragged her here! I was just standing here, wondering why the bat was getting bigger, until it hit me! When I came to she was dead and her left hand was gone."

"I need to look up the muffin man's address." Sherlock held his phone above his head trying to get signal but it was out of power. He was sad and the phone fell on his face.

"I'll charge you with battery too, you ungrateful brick." He said to the phone.

"So angry, the murderer. He must be fed up with people." Shrek commented.

"You are quite right; we are faced with a real life cannibal here. Come, we have a serial murder at hand." Sherlock approved in excitement, "The game is on!"

***

They arrived at the muffin man's place.

"Knock knock."

"Nobody's home."

"Nobody wh..." Sherlock widened his eyes in disbelief, "He dodged my knock knock joke...!" His expression hardened like some other body part, the fists, "He will be PUNished for this!"

They bashed down the door and marched in, but nobody was in the room.

"Told you nobody's home."

"We missed him! He's probably somewhere killing the next victim now." Shrek stomped angrily like an ogre.

"No, we did not. The oven is still on, the tea is fresh and his keys are still here. He's still..."

"Yes, I'm still at...Holmes!!" A figure stepped out from the dark, then proceeded to put on oven mitts and take out the contents of the oven. It was the muffin man. The contents of the oven, not the figure.

Sherlock stared and Shrek licked his lips.

"Hello, Sherlock. Fancy trying out my freshly baked cumberBATCH of human muffins?"

"Why yes of cour..." Shrek began, but was stopped by Sherlock, who continued to stare disapprovingly at Moriarty, disgusted at the puns, "Oh, is it that time already? Time for...moriarTEA?"

Moriarty smiled, "I'll burn you, Sherlock. I'll burn you like how I've burnt these muffins." It was at that moment that both Sherlock and Shrek realised the human muffins were all burnt, not chocolate flavoured. Disappointing.

"It was you who committed those three murders." Sherlock took a step forward, gaze firm on Moriarty and something firm against his pants. Shrek turned around and left, unable to withstand the sexual tension in the room.

"Yes, yes I did."

"The first victim, an artist found dead at home." Sherlock began, "Details are sketchy."

"Ha, the police weren't bready for this at all."

"The second, a chemist. Died from drinking H2O2."

"I made sure nothing would lead back to me. You know what they do when chemists die?They barium. A great way to destroy evidence, isn't it?"

"To be honest, it is quite elementary." SHERLOCK used DISAPPROVING STARE. It's super effective!

"I knew that wouldn't get any reaction out of you." Moriarty shrugged, "What about the last one? Do you need a hand with that?"

"I can handle it fine." Sherlock said, triumphantly presenting a Wikipedia page on his now-charged phone, "She's a maid for the Far Far Away royal family. Eating her hand was not your aim; you intended it as a warning. A maid with a missing left hand."

"...serves them right." Moriarty muttered. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Aldough, our little game has now ended." He tackled Sherlock to the ground.

"Oh crap," Sherlock said as he dropped his phone on the tiled floor.

"Oh crack," the phone said.

"You're toast!" Moriarty shouted.

Sherlock expressed his utter disgust at Moriarty's bun puns, "Jesus Crust, you butter stop." But suddenly a thought hit him like puberty.

"You...are the muffin man."

***

"That's RYEt! You've been the muffin man all this time." Sherlock's speech sped up, as his cold gaze swept over the man straddled on him, "Muffin Man, initials MM. Moriarty starts with M. The letter M is made up of three triangles. Illuminati is a triangle. But that's not all."

"Muffin Man and Moriarty makes up three M's, which becomes 9 triangles. You were born in 1974, and 74 times 9 is 666, the devil's number. The devil is often represented by a pentagram. A pentagram is made up of 15 straight lines and 5 triangles. If you take out the number 5 from 15 you get 1 left. Illuminati has 1 eye. But wait, there's more."

"Your name, Jim Moriarty, has 11 letters. Your actor's name, Andrew Scott, also has 11 letters. If you times them together, you get 121. Divide this by 15, the number of straight lines in a pentagram, and you get 8 remainder 1. Now you put those together. 8, 1. You push the top of the 1 to the left, and it tips over. By domino effect, the 8 tips over too, and falls on its side. What do you get? Infinity. Infinity is everything. Illuminati sees everything."

"You are now...IlluminARTY confirmed." Sherlock slipped on a pair of sunglasses and somewhere outside, far away, something exploded on cue.

"No need to break the fourth wall like that." Moriarty protested.

"Did someone say...break the fourth wall?" A voice boomed, followed by a deafening crash as one wall of the muffin man's cottage broke down, revealing the silhouette of a figure.

Sherlock's heart doki-dokied like a stuck moth, as his hero stepped towards him in all his green glory. _"Green isn't even a real colour," Sherlock whispered._

"That's the third wall, dumbass." Moriarty said ("Hey!" Donkey called out, offended), drawing from his belt a baguette and held it in the air, ready to attack Sherlock, "It wasn't a bat I killed her with. Thought you kneaded to know before you die."

"He can only be destroyed by heat!" Sherlock shouted, as Shrek picked up Moriarty by the collar, "Throw him into the corner--"

With a mighty ogre roar, Shrek hurled Moriarty into the corner of the room. In a puff of smoke, Moriarty disappeared into thin air.

"--it's 90 degrees there." Sherlock finished his sentence.

"I gas he's not going to murder anyone else anymore." Shrek said, relieved.

***

Night fell, as Sherlock and Shrek walked in the onion field, side by side.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" Shrek said, gazing at the stars glittering amongst the clouds.

Sherlock hesitated, about to comment on the irrelevancy of astronomy but some new, unknown feeling stopped him, "Indeed. It's revolutionary to think that we are just one speck orbiting around a star, in the vast continuum of the universe."

"A single _layer_ in the fabrics of space and time." Shrek agreed, "You know, I once read a book about antigravity. It was...impossible to put down." His green hand reached out and held Sherlock's, "I feel the same right now."

Far away, streaks of sunlight were starting to appear on the horizon. Sherlock stopped and turned to the ogre, "I've always thought that love is uncomprehendable. Then it dawned on me..." He grabbed Shrek by the collar and pulled him close, their lips meeting at the fulcrum on which Archimedes vowed to lever the Earth. From a cottage close by, came the morning radio, "If you order protons and electrons, we will send you neutrons free of charge..."

Two completely opposite universes collided, synchronising like they were always meant to be. They said that when matter and antimatter collide, they annihilate each other and unleash energy that can destroy worlds, or create new ones. At that moment, Shrek and Sherlock both believed in the latter.

***

"I don't know when we are ever going to meet again, or whether we will at all. The game is over, I guess." Sherlock lingered as the train pulled up to the station.

Shrek just smiled.

"The game...is never ogre." He whispered.


End file.
